


Philtatos

by agathokako



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Also consensual smooching but that's honestly what you're all here for, And we failed magnificently, Domestic Violence, Human Trafficking, M/M, Modern AU, Reincarnation, We came in with the intention of making this less sad, we're so sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4272879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agathokako/pseuds/agathokako
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together? Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences." - Emery Allen.</p><p>Almost three thousand years later in the heart of America's Midwest, Achilles and Patroclus are reborn as Arthur Phelps and Patterson Meyer. Their souls are once again inexorably drawn together, but this time there are different obstacles to overcome. Between corporate scandals, mysterious abductions, and overbearing mothers, it might prove too much to handle even for the heroes of legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur

Six minutes, twelve seconds.

I breathed out slow, focusing, controlling my heart rate. I'd been trying to shave another forty-two seconds off my mile time, but it was pretty slow going.  Between Dad trying to groom me to take over the business, Mother playing matchmaker, and having to keep up with my associates, every moment I got to myself was a rare blessing.  Running was one of those moments. The evenings around the lake were the best- slow, soft sunsets, the water like mirror glass. The solitude was almost magical.

Well, the near solitude. There were a few little budding shanty towns near the edge of the lake, people with ingenuitively crafted tents and small fires that never went out, but they mostly kept to themselves, so I didn't mind. Some of them were even friendly. If I didn't have a personal record to beat, I might have stopped to chat. But I did, so I kept going, my feet pounding against the soft dirt trail, skidding as I rounded corners. I knew the trail so well, all of my attention was fixated on keeping my momentum. Beating the clock. I was so fixated, in fact, that I didn't notice a change in the path.

My foot caught on something, and before I knew it I was on the ground, dust wafting around me. Jesus, who'd left something on the trail? Didn't people know this was a state park? The indignity of some people!

Before I could get too angry about humans' brazen disrespect for state-sanctioned property, I realized I hadn't tripped over litter. I'd tripped over a person. Their feet were sticking out from the bushes lining the trail, and they didn't seem to notice a full-grown man had effectively kicked them at a high speed. Quickly, I got up and moved some of the bushes' limbs out of the way. In the shadow of the leaves, I could make out a male figure in baggy clothes. He didn't move.

"Hey, are you okay?"

No response. Maybe he was just sleeping, just another person from a nearby shanty town, but I didn't feel like chancing it. Something about the situation seemed a little off, and I wouldn't have felt right just leaving him there. Besides, someone else could trip over him. I grabbed his ankles carefully and pulled him out of the bushes and onto the trail. When the fading sunlight hit his face, I saw my suspicions confirmed. He looked like he'd been hit by a train. I crouched down beside him.

"Hey!" I said, a little louder this time. "Can you hear me?"

Still no response. He almost looked delicate, soft dark hair just grazing high cheekbones, large clothes obviously disguising a lithe frame. He looked like the waifs poets wrote about. I couldn't imagine who would want to hurt someone like this.

I shook his shoulder gently, then slightly less gently when he didn't seem to notice. Neither worked. If it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, I might have thought he was dead.

After an unsuccessful minute or two of alternately speaking to him and shaking him, I realized I'd have to do something else about this situation. From the looks of it, his injuries were pretty serious. Maybe even hospital-trip worthy. But I didn't want to jump the gun and drag this guy all the way to the emergency room. That was almost thirty minutes away and, frankly, my medical knowledge was fuzzy at best. Who knew what was _actually_ wrong with him. It'd probably be safer to take him back home to Clovis. He'd know what to do.

I got my arms under his legs and back and hoisted him up. He was surprisingly light for his height, which made it easier to be gentle. Lord knew I didn't want to injure him more before I got him home. The guy didn't look like he could take any more punishment.

 

#

 

"Clovis!" I kicked the front door instead of knocking- my hands were full, and it was much louder. "Cloviiiis! I need a little assistance out here!"

The guy had been living with my family as long as I could remember, and had been around about as long as _anyone_ could remember. He functioned technically as a family physician, but really he was a long-time friend of ours who happened to have a medical degree. He was more like an uncle than an employee, and we all knew it.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came to the door.

"Artie, what have I told you about yelling-" He cut himself off when he saw who I had in tow. "My god, who is that?"

"No idea!" I skirted past him and made my way inside.

" _Excuse_ me?" He closed the front door and followed as I made my way past the entry, down the hall.

"I found him by the lake!"

"And why, in the name of god's green earth, did you bring him in here?" I nudged open the door with my foot and we turned into my room.

"He obviously needs medical attention! And when I found him I thought to myself: 'I _totally_ know a guy who's an expert at giving medical attention!' So, thus, I brought him in here to you." Gingerly, I set him down on the bed.

Clovis sighed, rubbing the bridge of his hawkish nose.

"I hope you know that normal people don't take in vagrants from the street and lay them on their beds."

"He was from a state park trail, and this was an emergency." Clovis looked unamused and thoroughly unconvinced. "Won't you just look at him?"

A doubtful noise was all I got in response.

"Please? Make sure he's not going to, I dunno, _die_ or something?"

There was a long pause until Clovis finally shook his head, resigned, and moved to inspect the man on my bed. I couldn't help but grin a little. Winning was always nice.

"Fine. I don't know why you feel obligated to do this sort of thing, though. It's dangerous to associate with people like this."

"Dangerous? You've _got_ to be kidding me. This guy's like, what, one-forty tops? I could toss him across the room!"

"I mean vagrants, child! The homeless, the vagabonds- this isn't the same as bringing home those stray cats you love so much. These are people! People you don't know-"

"I don't know lots of people! That doesn't mean I shouldn't help them!"

"Yes, it does! They could be volatile, drug addicts, criminals- you can't always tell right away. The risk is not worth the-"

"You are so negative, god!"

"And you interrupt far too much for a young man of your standing!"

"Because you're _wrong_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyoo, tumblr user ohachillean here! fun fact: this fic is gonna be told in alternating povs! (and by respectively alternating authors!!) how cool is that? my friend and i decided that a reincarnation au would be fun to write, and it quickly escalated into the monster you see before you.
> 
> another fun fact: i'm writing achilles pov, and i can say with the utmost authority that it is only going to get gayer. enjoy.


	2. Patterson

Pain. That was all I could register. Excruciating pain, all over my body. The pain was so intense that I almost wished for the darkness that I had been fighting my way out of to return. As I slowly regained consciousness, the pain diverted to just my head, arms, and chest. And with each new pulse of my still beating heart, images of what had brought me to this state emerged. My father, a raised fist, the feeling of terror, and the voices, shouting voices…

“-young man of your standing!"

"Because you're _wrong_."

I flinched, causing pain to once again shoot up and down my spine. I thought that I had escaped. That I had managed to leave that nightmare. This was it. I was going to die. That’s what he had said after all.

“Artie, if you want me to help the boy, I need much less lip from you. Now if you would be so kind, would you go and get my medical kit out of my room?”

“Ha! I knew you couldn’t pass up helping someone!”

“Artie, my kit.”

“Alright, Clovis! I’m getting it!”

As I heard the sound of a door closing and retreating footsteps, I replayed what was said in my mind. _Artie? Clovis? I don’t know those names! Where the heck am I?!_

I tried to set up but as the pain intensified and the world began to spin, I realized that that would not be an option. It also didn’t help that there was suddenly a bedraggled, old man leaning over me with the most disapproving look on his face.

“Child, if I were you, I wouldn’t even think about moving right now.”

As more pain flooded my body, particularly the arm I was attempting to brace myself with, I managed to mumble out, “Yeah, I figured that out on my own.” My tongue felt like a wad of cotton in my mouth, and my lips stung where I guessed that they had been split.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my chest and another on my left arm. I tensed up once again, causing the old man to tsk at me.

“Now really child, you can’t expect me to patch you up without properly examining you now do you?” He then poked my cheek in what he probably assumed was a gentle manner, but in actuality, it felt like hell.

“You appear to have broken a few ribs and your left arm, but I can’t determine the extent of the damage until I have been able to x-ray you… You also appear to have a black eye and sever bruising to the majority of your face and arms… I can’t examine your torso without removing your shirt however… We’ll have to cut it off so that we won’t further disturb your arm…”

He said this all while looking over my face and running his hand down my arm. But at his mentioning of removing my shirt, I flinched away from him, hissing in pain.

The man’s frown deepened.

“That was unnecessary. You’re only going to inflict more damage at this point. It might not be ideal, but this is the situation that you and I are going to have to work with since the ‘young master’ didn’t see fit to just take you to the emergency room like what any other sensible person would do.”

He said this part with such a resigned voice that I got the impression that this “ _young master_ ” did stuff like this often.

I attempted to swallow the cotton in my mouth and tried to speak again.

“What even is this place? And how did I even get here? Who even are you?!” With each question, my voice grew a little stronger, though my face and chest screamed in agony.

The old man gave me a penetrating look, as if he thought I would have already known the answers to my questions.

“Young man, you are in the home of Phillip Phelps. You arrived here by the good, if not foolish, will of his son, Arthur Phelps. As to who I am, you can just refer to me as Clovis. Now if you do not mind, and seeing as you are so willing to speak right now, I would like you ask you a few questions, if that is alright with you?”

He said all this with the same penetrating expression and seemed to be waiting for me to answer, but my mind was too busy racing. _Phillip Phelps, as in_ the _Phillip Phelps?! The CEO of one of the biggest oil industries in the world, Phillip Phelps?!_ My mind sputtered to a stop at that point. Phillip Phelps was one of the most powerful men in his field, let alone the city! How on earth had I even gotten here?

The man, Clovis, must have taken my silence as permission to continue speaking because he suddenly asked, “And what is your name, child? And how did you come by such injuries?”

At his questions, terror seized me. _I can’t let him know! I can’t let him know anything, or I’ll never escape!_

Clovis’ expression seemed to soften a little.

“Don’t worry, child. No one will hurt you here.” Huh, pretty words.

After a moment of contemplation, I mumble out, “Joe… Thompson…”

The disapproving look was back.

“Joe Thompson… And tell me, _Joe Thompson,_ how exactly were you injured?”

I gulped. He obviously didn’t believe me about my name, for good reason I guess. I had no idea where the name came from either. I was, unfortunately, a horrible liar.

“If it’s all the same to you, sir, I rather not say.”

“Hmmm… You’d rather not say, and that is your business. I will not question you further on this topic. But I will tell you this: the type of injuries that you have received are common of those from an individual who was trying to protect themselves from an attack. I can also tell you, that you will most likely not be able to leave anytime soon, until you have at least healed a little.”

I began to protest, but he shushed me with a stern look.

“I do not want another word out of you. When that blasted boy finally stops his dilly-dallying and gets here with my medical kit, I will be able to begin patching you up. Until then, I suggest that you rest and try to get some sleep, because this next part will not be at all pleasant.”

And with those words, as if by some sort of magic, the world once again faded to black, and I knew no more.

 

#

 

I woke up the next morning, feeling incredibly stiff and disoriented. The returning pain was almost an afterthought by that point. I blinked my eyes several times trying to grow accustomed to the sunlight streaming in through what appeared to be a large bay window on the wall to the right of the bed I was in. The bed, was huge just like the room it was placed. There were two doors situated on the left wall and another on the wall opposite the bed. There were shelves on either side of this door covered in what appeared to be trophies and picture frames. There was another shelf by the window that was crammed with books and the floor was littered with clothing, sports equipment, and paper. A guitar was leaning in one of the corners.

With each new discovery, I grew increasingly uncomfortable and the events form the night before began to play out in my mind. Running until I collapsed. The old man, Clovis with his penetrating looks. Being examined…

I slowly raised my right hand to my face and felt the puffy skin that surrounded my right eye. I felt the stitching that extended along my eyebrow and up my forehead. Bandages wrapped around my head, holding an ice pack that was mostly melted in place. I must have gotten a goose egg along with everything else. Then I noticed my actual arm. It too was bandaged, from my wrist to my elbow, but peeking out from under it, I could just make out the bruises left by strong fingers. I turned away from that quickly, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat. My left arm was incased in a hard blue cast and was secured by a sling around my neck. Clovis had said that he thought it was broken, along with some of my ribs. I looked down at my exposed chest and saw that it was also bandaged.

I tentatively sat up, trying not to cry out in pain, as more memories from the night before came to me. _Clovis had mentioned something about this being the home of Phillip Phelps. And that I had been found by his son…_ _Wait! Did that mean, that I am in his son’s room?!_

I looked back around at my surroundings again and the more I saw, the more my fears were confirmed. I was definitely in someone else’s room.

As quickly as I could, I tried to maneuver myself across the monster of a bed and make my way on shaky legs to the door, opposite the bed. I had no idea where I was going, but I just knew that I didn’t want to be there anymore.

I had just reached the door when the brass looking knob turned suddenly and the door sprang open. Like a deer caught in a headlight, I froze, too shocked and terrified to move.

The man at the door seemed to be caught in a state of surprise too, for he also froze and just stared at me. He seemed to be about the same age as me, about twenty years old, and was incredibly fit. He quickly recovered from his shock, and plastered on a huge smile causing his blue eyes to crinkle.

“Oh! Good, you’re awake! I thought for sure you were dead for a while there, but Clovis assured me that you were just sleeping!” He was holding a tray that had what appeared to be more bandages and another ice pack on it. He shifted the tray to one hand and placed his other hand on my back tentatively, trying to lead me back to the bed I had just managed to escape. When I realized what he was doing, I jerked away from him. Trying to ignore the pain that that brought, I took a step away from him.

“Who the hell are you, and what exactly do you think you’re doing?!” I demanded. I knew that I was acting ridiculous, but I was confused and in pain and already exhausted after my little excursion out of bed.

He, whoever he was, just smiled and said, “Aw, c’mon, Joe, we know each other real well already! After all, I was the one who saved you and everything! Hell, I’m practically your hero!”

I was so thrown by his casual behavior at my obvious distress that I failed to realize the trap that I had walked right into.

“Who the fuck is Joe?!”

“Ah, see that’s exactly what I would like to know.” His smile was still firmly in place, but it had somehow turned more calculating. “You don’t seem like a Joe to me. I would have pinned you as more of a Patrick or Peter sort of guy!”

My blood turned cold in my veins and my already accelerated heart rate seemed to triple its pace.

“What makes you say that?” I asked hoarsely.

His smile dropped away to be replaced by a slightly confused look. His eyebrows scrunched together and he seemed to be almost lost in thought for a moment before looking back at me.

“I don’t know… Joe just seemed wrong and Patrick seemed almost right… Why? Is that your real name?”

“Patterson…” I said in shock. _What on earth is going on with this guy?_

“Pa-tter-son.” He repeated my name, articulating every syllable. Something most people never bothered with. It sounded odd on his tongue, and I wasn’t for sure if I liked it or not.

“Most everyone just calls me Pat. It’s easier.” I grounded out, because the guy was once again grinning that smug grin of his.

“No!” he shook his head, fiercely, sending his shoulder length, golden hair (is that even a natural hair color?) flying. “I like it! It suits you!”

I stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t even know anything about me!”

“Sure I do! Your name is Patterson, and you need my help! That’s all that matters at this point! We’ll fill in the blanks later!” He had begun to steer me back to the bed once again, still balancing that tray of medical supplies. I tried to jerk away from him again but he just gently grabbed my right upper arm, the only part that was not seriously bruised and wouldn’t let me go until I was once again situated in the middle of it.

I let out a frustrated puff of air because it was now becoming apparent to me that there was no telling this guy no.

“So what? You’re just a Good Samaritan? No one is actually like that. Tell me why you’re helping me! And won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay in this room for that matter? Isn’t this the ‘ _young master’s’_ room?”

He had placed the tray of bandages down next to where he sat perched on the edge of the bed. He reached towards me and began to remove the bandages holding the ice pack in place from my head. He made a tutting sound when he saw whatever it was covering and then placed the new ice pack and began to replace the ace wrap.

“Not going to lie, Patterson”

“Pat.”

“Patterson.” He had a serious look on his face while he focused on whatever he was doing with my head, because it sure didn’t feel like any sort of first aid that I had experienced. “I don’t really have a reason for helping you. Just a feeling that it was something that I must do, like how I knew that you gave me the wrong name.” He paused as he tied off the bandage. He then looked me right the eyes. “You were someone that needed help, so I decided to help you. No alternative reason. And besides,” He looked me up and down with that cheeky smile firmly in place again. “I doubt that you could even afford to pay me back for all the heroism that I’m demonstrating right now anyways!”

And with that, he hopped off the bed and made his way to the door he had come through, while I sat there totally flabbergasted.

“Oh, and one more thing, I can let you stay in this room, because it’s _my_ room! Arthur Phelps, at your service!”

I let out an angry growl and seized a throw pillow from the bed and threw it at the door he had just left through, cackling like a fucking hyena.

I let out another angry growl before I fell back onto the pillows still on the bed. _God! I really hate that guy!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Tumblr user searchtheruinsfortrapdoors, at your service! As my lovely associate, ohachillean, has already stated, this fic will be written in both Achilles' perspective and Patroclus' perspective! I will be the voice of Patroclus! I hope you enjoy the ride!


	3. Arthur

“ _We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig in our mine the whole day through! To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig is what we really like to do!_ ”

That was Dad calling. I dropped from the pull-up bar hooked to the door frame and went to pick it up. Customized ringtones made it easier to know whether or not a call was serious - more importantly, whether or not I could elect to ignore it.  Dad, of course, I could never ignore. Even if I _was_ in the middle of a set.

“Artie!” His timing was always impeccable. I’d never heard a phone conversation where he didn’t speak first. Someday I’d get the jump on him, but today wasn’t the day.

“Hey Dad! How’s was Greece?”

“Fine as ever. We just got to the airport, so we should be home soon. Well, _I_ should. Your mother might have to stop off in London for a shoot, but you know how it goes.”

“Oh yeah, of course.” The fact that Mother was only stopping once was impressive. She must’ve been hurrying home for something.

“How’s it going over there? Not causing too much trouble, I hope?”

“Haha, no, things have been great!” I looked over into the hallway. A few doors down, there lay the boy I’d rescued. Considering the vehemence with which Clovis had reacted (which, for the record, I _still_ didn’t understand), I figured should probably drop Dad a hint about him before he came home. “I maaay have found a stray.”

"Now Artie, you know we can't take in any more animals, rescue or not. We don't have the time."

"Well, you're in luck then, because it's not an animal!"

There was a pause on the other side of the line, but I knew what face he was making. That stern, quizzical look he got when he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"It's a person! But it’s all good, he just needs some hel-"

“Arthur Phelps.” The full name. Now I knew he was serious. “People are included in the no more rescues rule. You know that.”

“ _People_ don’t need constant attention like animals. He’s not a like, a puppy or anything, Dad.”

“And why does he need to be there in the first place?”

“He needs our help- he looks like he got hit by a car!” Okay, maybe not a car, but exaggerating for effect never hurt anyone. “He needs to stay here, at least until he’s healed up. I’ll take full responsibility for him.”

There was another pause. This time, I let him break it.

“Alright, fine. You’re an adult, and you can make your own decisions. Just don’t let this be too much of a distraction, alright? You’ve got a lot of big stuff coming up.”

There we go, that was the response I’d been looking for.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a day or two, alright?”

“Alright.”

We said our goodbyes, mostly compulsory, and hung up. I considered going back to the pull-up bar, finishing my sets, but my thoughts had been redirected to Patterson.  He’d been alone for almost an hour. Alone and injured in a strange place. He was probably wanting for some company.  

 

#

 

Personally, I thought I’d done a _wonderful_ job on the food. Sure, it took a few tries to get the toast right, and eggs had been more difficult to crack than I’d originally assumed, but the end result had been more than passable. I couldn’t figure out what Patterson’s problem was with it.

“I don’t need your help!”

“What do you mean? Of course you do! That’s why you’re here, remember?”

“I’m _here_ because you dragged my unconscious body here, now get that out of my face!”

He leaned back from me in a manner that couldn’t possibly have been good for his ribs. I put the spoon back in the bowl. I’d never seen a person get so heated about being fed oatmeal.

“Hey, I didn’t drag you! You were carried! Exceptionally gently, I might add.”

His expression didn’t change. He still furrowed his brow, obvious distaste further accentuated by his facial injuries, soft doe-eyes tinted with distrust. Something about that bothered me more than it should have, his lack of trust. I wanted him to feel safe here. I almost felt insulted that he _didn’t_ , but assured myself he’d probably just need a few more days to adjust.

“Patterson, you know you gotta eat if you wanna get better.” I offered the spoon back again.

“That doesn’t mean you need to try to fucking spoon feed me, Jesus! Don’t you know anything about personal space? Or are you exempt from that, _young master_?”

I cocked my head slightly. What did he mean by that? I was completely respecting his personal space. We were probably a whole foot apart.

A light knock stopped me from replying to him. In the doorway stood a girl not much older than us, with nut brown skin and delicate bones, leaning casually on a broom. Our housekeeper, Brittany.

“What is going on in here? Here I am, just trying to work in peace, and you two keep shouting down the hall like someone’s life is in danger.”

“Oh, he’s just being disagreeable.” I assured her. “It’s no big deal.”

“ _What?_ It’s not just me!”

A small smirk played on Brittany’s lips as she looked Patterson up and down.

“So this is the boy you rescued last night, huh?” She walked up to him, leaving her broom by the door. “You finally find a man who stays the next morning, and turns out the poor thing couldn’t leave if he wanted to!”

She laughed like wind chimes. Despite being the butt of the joke, I joined her. Brittany was only here a few times a week and, while we’d managed to form a something like a repartee, she wasn’t all that fond of me, so this was about as friendly as our conversations got. I usually didn’t mind, though. At times, it could be entertaining – like now. Patterson didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. In fact, he looked more uncomfortable than ever. Our laughter ceased, and we waited for him to get the joke. He didn’t.

“C’mon Patterson, it was just a joke.” I softly tapped his shoulder, hoping it came off friendly.

“Are you serious?” He wasn’t even angry at this point, just strangely bewildered. “You people joke about… _that_?”

“Well, yeah, sure, I don’t see why we wouldn’t.” Brittany shrugged. “It’s no big deal or anything.”

Patterson raised his dark eyebrows in disbelief. Then he spoke almost under his breath, almost to himself.

“Pretty world you live in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say about this particular chapter other than arthur is an obnoxious golden retriever and i'm almost sorry, i hope you all liked it.
> 
> \- ohachillean


	4. Patterson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read:
> 
> A little warning about this chapter: there are references to past physical and verbal abuse. If this is a trigger for you in any way, please skip this chapter, and we will include a recap at the beginning of the next. Okay? For those of you still reading, please enjoy!
> 
> \- searchtheruinsfortrapdoors

1:37 AM. The digital clock on the bedside table washed the room, Arthur Phelps’s room, in a soft blue light. I had been laying there for the last thirty or so minutes, trying to process recent events, while the pain meds still held.

After the disaster that had been breakfast, -I couldn’t figure out if Arthur had been trying to poison me with what he had claimed to be food or had simply never made breakfast before and didn’t know what was considered edible in the kitchen-all of my bandages had been changed out via a joint project of the old man, Clovis, Arthur, and, who I assumed was the housekeeper, Brittany. That had been terrible. I swear, Arthur had no idea what he was doing and only kept getting in the other two’s way.

After that, I had been allowed to get up and use the restroom, which turned out to be one of the doors on the left wall. The other door, I still had no idea what was behind it.

But anyways, I had been allowed to get up and use the restroom. And then Arthur tried to help me into there! Now I know that I probably needed it, considering the fact that I was practically mummy wrapped, but a man has his pride! And I managed just fine on my own, thank you very much!

As I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, I was finally able to get a good look at myself. It wasn’t pretty. My face was almost swollen beyond recognition, with bright red and purple bruises covering almost every surface. The stitches on my right eyebrow stood out like angry black railroad tracks, running up my forehead. My neck was also bruised, a perfect ring wrapping around my throat, where hands had grabbed. Like the bruising I had found on my arm earlier that morning, I turned away from those dark marks, and finished inspecting what I could see of my chest and arms. The sling was done, allowing my casted arm to hang at my side. My chest and right arm were still bound.

Looking at myself, I felt angry and weak. Even though I was obviously taller than him, I was nowhere near the level that Arthur was, if there is even any such a level. Probably the level that the gods used. Where he was toned and tan, I was skinny and pale. He had probably never known what it was like to not fit in, or to be a disappointment to his father. Hell, even using the exact same hair care product as me-I had seen a familiar looking bottle sitting, perched on the side of the bathtub-his hair was still  much better looking than mine!

At this thought, I mentally shook myself. Was I seriously getting offensive over a total stranger? _Yeah, a stranger who appears to be way better than you!_ Said a bitter voice in my head. _He’s literally perfect, if what you’ve heard about him is even half true! Taking over his father’s business at the age of twenty-one? That’s what a son should be._ The voice sounded like my father’s.

I shove the voice aside as violently as I shove the bathroom door open. Brittany, who had stayed after Clovis had left, startled, but not Arthur. He just turns to me with a concerned look, but it’s gone so quickly that I tell myself that I must have imagined it. His wide smile is once again in place.

“Wow, you took so long in there that I was about to bust down the door and check on you! But you seem to have beat me to it!” He nodded to the still swinging bathroom door.

“Fuck you.” I said angrily. I went and sat back down on the bed. Brittany was standing, leaning against her broom that she had been holding when she first walked in. Arthur was sitting in an office chair that he had turned backwards, with his legs extending around the backrest.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, when Brittany cut him off.

“Not one more word out of you, Artie! Leave to poor boy alone. He obviously doesn’t like you, so there is no point in you further antagonizing him!”

Before he could respond, she turned to me.

“Just ignore him, hon. He means well but is, unfortunately, an idiot, so there’s not much hope of getting through to him that you just want to be left alone.”

I stared at her in total shock. Wasn’t Arthur her boss? How could she get away with talking to him like that? Arthur didn’t seem that offended though. He was pouting, sure, but he wasn’t denying her claims. He was just watching us now, closely, with a contemplative look in his eyes which looked odd with his arms crossed defensively and his bottom lip puckered out.

Brittany, meanwhile, had continued talking. She told me that she had worked for the Phelps family for the last two years, while she’s working on her Bachelor’s degree at one of the local universities. She was a psychology major, and hoped to go on to get her Doctorate degree in that field of study.

Gosh, I was so thankful it was the summer. I didn’t know what I would have done if I had missed any classes because of my own stupidity, and I said as much to her. That was when Arthur decided to rejoin the conversation.

“What do you mean, ‘your own stupidity’? It’s not like you asked to be hurt, right?” He was now giving me that penetrating look that Clovis always seemed to have. It made me want to curl into a ball and hide, but also, at the same time, I felt the urge to tell him everything. As if Arthur Phelps, with all of his money and fame, could possibly listen and understand my feelings and what I had gone through.

My father’s voice was once again in my head. _You deserve this, you piece of shit. This is the result of your own stupid choices, and nothing is going to save you from it._

“No, it’s my fault that I’m like this, and no one else’s. I was stupid and got what I deserved. You probably should have just left me in those bushes. I would have been fine on my own.” I said all this in a sort of toneless voice. I was lost in my head, listening to my father’s harsh words once again. Arthur and Brittany shared a concerned look that I didn’t quite understand.

“Oh, Pat…” Brittany tentatively sat on the bed next to me and wrapped her arm gently around my shoulders. I relaxed into her, leaning my head on her shoulder. She reminded me of my mother, not able to understand but offering comfort where she could. I had just met her, but I already felt like I had a friend in her.

Arthur, meanwhile, had gone silent. When I looked at him, he appeared to be trying to conceal some strong emotion. He rolled his chair closer to the bed. I felt Brittany stiffen next to me, when Arthur reached out and touched my neck where the bruises were with one hand and then cupped my bruised cheek with his other, but I did not. His eyes that held mine were not filled with any sort of callousness or anger like the ones who had put the marks there nor did they hold any pity. They were just sad and compassionate. Something that I didn’t understand at the time. His hands on my neck and face were as gentle as could be.

“Patterson, I don’t know what gave you the idea that you deserved this, but I can tell you for certain that no one should ever have to go through whatever it is you have. And if I could, I would make sure that you never have to go through that again. You are too important of an individual for something like this to have happened to you. And I don’t have to have known you, to know that.”

He held my gaze for another moment. I didn’t know how to respond. I hadn’t had anyone ever say anything like that to me before, nor anyone offer me the sort of comfort that these to complete strangers had in a long time. I wasn’t for sure what to make of any of it. Surely there had to have been an alternative motive. As I had said to Arthur earlier, no one was really that nice.

I remained silent as Arthur stood up at last and informed us that he had some work to do, but that if I needed anything to let him or Brittany know right away. Brittany assured him that she would be close at hand to assist me and that I was due for some pain medication, curtesy of one Mr. Clovis, in just a few hours. With that, Arthur bid us a good day and left through the other side door. Brittany had then left as well to finish her cleaning duties and then returned with lunch and pain meds a few hours later, just as she had promised. I didn’t see Arthur again that day.

The meds had been successful in not only relieving the worse of the pain, but they had also effectively knocked me out until I had found myself staring at the bright blue digits of an alarm clock at one in the morning.

When the blue numbers changed to 1:40 AM, I decided that I couldn’t stay in the bed any longer. I slowly crawled out from under the covers, only slightly concerned that my old jeans that I had previously been wearing were now replaced with a pair of flannel pajama bottoms.

After making use of the restroom once again, I stood in the semidarkness of Arthur’s bedroom. Once my eyes had properly adjusted to the lighting, after the brightness of the bathroom, I slowly made my way across the room with nothing better to do but look around.

I stopped at the shelves on either side of the door that led into, what I assumed, was the rest of the house. These shelves were covered in pictures of Arthur at different stages of his life, from infancy to young adulthood.

In almost every picture he seemed to be winning something, and each of those pictures were accompanied by either a plague, medal, or trophy. There were awards for almost any sport you could imagine, and the same went for music. The shelf was practically littered with them.

The feeling that I had had earlier that morning in the bathroom of incompetence and resentment began to reemerge. I had never been able to win anything in my life…

There were other people in the pictures too. In many of them, there was a proud looking older man, who I immediately recognized as Phillip Phelps, Arthur’s father. In each photo he could be seen proudly beaming at his son, even in the few photos that there weren’t any sort of awards.

There were a few pictures that Arthur wasn’t in at all. These photos only contained a slightly older looking woman with long black hair and bright red lip stick that contrasted with her almost black eyes, making her look both terrifying and terrifyingly beautiful. I wasn’t sure who the woman was, but in the one photo I could see of her and Arthur together, he was very small, perhaps two or three years old, and she was watching him play with blocks with a sort of hungry look in her black eyes. A look that I had seen before. I hoped that I would never have to meet her.

The only other photos contained pictures of Arthur with both Clovis and Brittany and a few others with two other men who looked to be a little older then Arthur and myself. One of these men always seemed to look amused in each photo, like there was some sort of joke going on the in background that only he could see, and the other man always seemed to look slightly exasperated in each photo, like he was the punch line to the other man’s joke.

Looking at all of these photos of Arthur making his father proud, achieving amazing goals, and being surrounded by people who obviously cared for him, brought my bitterness back into full swing. His earlier words of kindness to me now seemed empty and shallow. _How could someone who has so much possibly understand me? What gives him the right to act all high and mighty? Just because he’s a privileged little bastard!_

I turned angrily away from the shelf and made my way back across the room to the door that he had disappeared through earlier that day. I had never seen him leave. For all I knew, he could have still been in there.

In my anger and bitterness, I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to accomplish, but I knew deep down that I was being irrational. Arthur hadn’t done anything to me to deserve my hatred, for that’s what I felt for him in that moment, true and utter hatred, the likes of which I have never felt before. And the knowledge that my hate was unfounded only increased my irritability.

I slammed the door open with just slightly less force then what I had used on the bathroom door that morning. Through the haze of emotion, I could tell that I had entered into what appeared to be an office. Filling cabinets lined one wall and shelves lined another. There was a desk in the middle, facing the door I had just come through. Another door stood in the wall behind it and still another led into what I assumed was the restroom that Arthur’s bedroom also connected too. (I vaguely remembered another door in there.) There were two chairs in front of the desk facing it, and I recognized the actual desk chair as the one that Arthur had been sitting in earlier.

As I took in my surroundings, something, almost as if an afterthought, occurred to me. Arthur wasn’t in there.

I circled around the office, taking in the different titles of book on the shelves. They all appeared to be books on business and accounting, which I guess made since considering his family’s business. My eyes mostly just slide across everything until they landed on the file that was lying open on the desk.

Now usually, I wasn’t prone to snooping, but in this case, with my anger still at a peak, I decided to make an exception.

I walked around to the back of the desk and began to rifle through the pages that were there. Most of the documents made absolutely no sense to me, except for one. It was towards the back of the file and appeared to contain plans for a new location to start drilling for oil. Most of it, like the rest of the file, I couldn’t decipher, but I did know the location. The digging was to occur on the border of Pylos Gardens, an old park that was not far from my own neighborhood. It was a fairly populated area, with pedestrians often going to the park to relax and admire the beautiful gardens there. Any sort of drilling there would put people in danger and condemn the place.

Looking over this information, I felt my anger grow even greater. _How selfish could this guy be? He literally cares about nothing but achieving his own goals. And where do I fit into all of this? Probably just a stupid charity case! He’ll toss me back onto the streets the moment he gets bored. I’m nothing to him. And I never will be…_

Despair growing in my chest as the last of my pain meds wore off, I dropped the file back down and made my way out of the room, closing the door behind me. I stiffly walked back to the bed, and climbed in. As I settled under the plush comforter, I could feel the adrenaline that had first carried me into the room slowly drain out of me, along with any self-control I had managed to keep a hold of for the past twenty-four hours.

Tears that I hadn’t realized I was holding back slowly slid down my swollen face causing my cheeks to sting slightly. This last thought, that I would eventually be abandon by probably the only person who could save me, seemed to hurt worse than any physical blow that I had ever received. And I couldn’t understand why.


	5. Arthur

If I'd learned anything from my time spent with Patterson, it was that if I did something he didn't like, he was more than willing to be vocal with me about it. So, when my knocking went unanswered, I decided to take that as a go ahead to come in and continue about my business. After a short, almost imperceptible, acknowledgement of one another, I headed straight for the closet. Right now, there was no time for greetings. I was on a mission.

We hadn't seen each other all day. I'd been busy with work and, to be perfectly honest, time got away from me. By the time I'd considered my work finished, it was nearly time for dinner. Tonight, that meant company, as well as Dad coming home, so I felt that Patterson deserved a fair warning.

Moreover, he was in need of my assistance and fantastic sense of style.

"Here, come here." I gestured for him to come with one hand, sorting through clothes with the other.

"What? What's going on?"

"My dad's coming home tonight, you know, for dinner with some of our associates, and I noticed you didn't have much in the way of changes of clothes, _so_." There, I'd found a suit jacket that might fit him. "I figured you could just borrow some!"

"My clothes are fine." The sentence was plain, but tense- he almost sounded venomous. Perhaps yesterday hadn't gone as well as I'd thought. I glanced behind me- Patterson had moved closer, but not nearly as close as I'd intended. He was still almost half the room away. I gestured more energetically this time. Eventually he'd warm up to me. Surely. Hopefully.

"C'mon, come here!"

This time he actually came up beside me, though still looking a little more reluctant than I thought he should. Maybe he just didn't like dressing up. If that was the case, he was going to have to power through it- that was the _modus operandi_ at our house when Dad was home (and on the rare occasions Mother was home). He said it was something about it breeding refinement. I just took it as an excuse to wear blazers more often.

I held up the jacket to Patterson, but the tan blended too well with his skin- just because this was an improvised outfit didn't mean it couldn't look good.

"Hmm, nope. I think you're more of a dove grey kind of guy." I put the jacket back and began to search for the aforementioned grey one. "Do you like grey?"

"This really isn't necessary. Like. Really not necessary." I was turned around, but I assumed by the tone of his voice he still looked as disgruntled as before. "You guys can just do your dinner thing and I-"

"Nonsense! You're a little bit taller than me, but this'll work fine for tonight." I held up the soft colored blazer to him. The sleeves were a tad short, but the rest of it was perfect. Well, almost. I glanced at his arm, still bandaged heavily. "Do you need help getting ready?"

"Are you serious?" He looked incredibly disdainful.

"Why would I not be?"

"I think I can put on my clothes by myself, thanks." Even though the word 'thanks' had come out of his mouth, it had been said with the same emphasis as the phrase 'get out'. I handed him the jacket, along with the rest of the outfit, and dutifully headed out the door. While not particularly pleased with this turn of events (or, rather, lack thereof, since he still seemed to dislike me), I understood. Independence is important for most people.

"I'll be down the hall if you need me!" I said pleasantly as I shut the door behind me. I would've stayed closer, but I had to get properly dressed myself.

"I won't!" He said, matching my tone. I supposed it was intended to be mocking, but I elected to ignore it- just in case it wasn’t.

#

I knocked on the door again. Thirty minutes had passed, plenty of time for him to be decent, but this time I waited for him to answer, just in case. While it wouldn't have bothered me, we didn't know each other that well- it probably would've bothered him.

"You doing good in there?"

"I'm fine! Just-"

There was a pause. On the other side of the door, I swore I heard rustling and disgruntled noises. This went on for a good few minutes, and I couldn't help but grin. It wasn't that I was enjoying his struggling, mind you, but rather his tenacious self-reliance. The whole thing was, admittedly, a strangely adorable.

"Augh. Alright, fine, come in."

The damage wasn't nearly as bad as his fuss had made it sound. Cuffs undone, tie draped loosely around his neck, but other than that he looked like he really hadn't needed much help.

"Here, let me get those."

"No, I can do it."

His speech had been quick and clipped, but I had already stepped up him and began fastening them, to which he only sighed- displeased, yes, but not resistant. That was a start.  
"Y'know, these sorts of things actually take some practice to do on yourself under regular circumstances." I began to tie his tie. He was only a little taller than me- just enough that I had to crane my neck. "I mean, I don't think I could do it with a busted arm and-"

Something stopped me. As I'd brought the necktie up to tuck it under itself, I noticed an odd bruise on his jawline. It was too distinct, almost clear cut, and almost hidden by his hair. The small circle of a signet ring, marked with what looked like an ornate "M". My jaw tightened. Rage boiled in my chest. Rage so distinct, so intense, I had to physically bite it back. I'd suspected a someone had done this to him, rather than a something, but this brought it all home. This was probably a person he knew. Maybe even family. This had been done with so much _purpose_ , Jesus Christ, I was ready to scream. But when he noticed I'd stopped tying the tie, and saw what I was looking at, he quickly turned his head so I could no longer see it. I swallowed my anger. I knew I should save it for the person who owned that ring.

"Alright," I finished tying the tie. "Let's get down to dinner." I'd try to sound kind, but I wasn't sure I'd quite managed it.

#

Well, at least Patterson was getting an accurate representation of the business. Or, at least, our part of the business.

For the most part, dinner hadn't been too awkward. Dad was a little stiff with Patterson, admittedly, and our associates, Adrian and Martin, hardly acknowledged him, but he seemed content with watching. It was probably more comfortable for him that they didn't ask too many questions, anyway.

Instead, things went on as they usually would've. We made a few jokes, kept up polite conversation for a few minutes, and then got down to discussing what we all were really here for- Pylos Gardens.

"The talks with the owners are going smoothly- they seem willing to sell it for the right price." Martin said clinically. He was the smaller of the two brothers, and always seemed to be concentrating on something.

"And the zoning won't be a problem." Adrian added. "I think we should go for it." A small, confident grin played on his lips.

"Actually, I think the zoning is exactly our problem." Time to drop the bomb on him.

"What do you mean?" His smile dropped slightly. "It's within regulation."

"That doesn't mean it's safe. Regulation's a legal minimum- Pylos Garden is near a residential area."

"A good number of our pumpjacks are near residential areas." Martin said.

"This one's too close. It's dangerous." I hadn't been involved in those other projects- I'd only been able to watch them discuss at best, and occasionally input. Now that I actually had the power decide, I was going to say what I thought. "We don't need to do it."

Adrian narrowed his eyes at me, his broad shoulders tensing, but my gaze was drawn to someone else. Patterson, who'd kept a keen eye on the conversation despite his silence, looked almost... Relieved. Something about his expression had softened. Momentarily, our eyes met, and I swore for a moment we might actually be on the same page." Are you sure about this?" Instead of Adrian, it was Dad who spoke. He didn't sound particularly upset, but healthily skeptical. "The price is good. We'll make a decent amount of profit if we do this."

"There's plenty of oil elsewhere."

Adrian's displeasure was almost physically palpable. This wasn't what he'd come here to discuss- he hadn't really come here to discuss at all. He usually came with an idea already in his head, and assumed everyone else would agree with him. Sometimes it was a good one. This time it was not.

"This is going to be a hit to our books, you know." Martin said.

"If we don't do this, we're missing a big opportunity." Adrian's tone was firm- not like he was suggesting to me, but like he was telling me.

"Alright, even if you don't care about the people there, do you really want to end up on the news as the company who cleared drilling in a residential area, only to have children end up on site? No amount of money is worth that kind of bad press."

Adrian shot me a look. I met it somberly. Backing down wasn't an option at this point, even if I’d wanted to. I’d made my case, I’d have to stick with it.

"Alright," Dad nodded, almost contemplatively. "If that's what you think, then we’ll do it.”

“What?” Adrian turned to him. “You’re just gonna let your boy do that, Phil?”

“Well, he’s going to be running the company soon anyway, I might as well let him handle his own project.”

“Hope he gets a little more business savvy before you hand it over in full.” He chuckled, deep and almost too loud. “Otherwise there won’t be much of a company left!”

We were going to see about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there! sorry for the slow chapters! we've been kinda busy! my friend and co-writer searchtheruinsfortrapdoors would like to specifically apologize for her next chapter, which is gonna be a little late as she's working at a summer camp right now. thank you for your patience on both of our parts, and i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter!


	6. Patterson

After the most awkward dinner of my life, Clovis, who always seemed to appear when I least expected him, had escorted me back to Arthur’s room, where he then checked my injuries once again.

He seemed to be happy with the progress I was making, considering I had only been in his care for two days. Gods, has it really only been that long? It had already begun to feel like forever!

Mentally shaking of the unease these thoughts had filled me with, I turned back to Clovis who was just telling me that he would be removing my stitches in just a few more days and that I no longer needed the other bandages that covered the majority of my torso. The cast would have to stay for another two weeks at least. I took all of this with a grain of salt because it seemed to me the Clovis wasn’t expecting me to leave during that time.

Not that I have a place to go. I thought bitterly. It seemed that I would have to remain in the “loving” care of one Arthur Phelps.

After Clovis had left, reminding me severely not to do anything strenuous that might hurt my still mending ribs or reopen any of my newly healed wounds, I was once again left alone with just my thoughts.

Arthur had gone to one of the lounges that I had noticed as I was being led to dinner just a few short hours ago with his father, Mr. Phelps, and two of his employees.

What was my opinion of them? Well, at first glance they seemed no different than any other business men that I had seen around the city. They seemed to be very business oriented and didn’t beat around the bush when it came to what they wanted, which I could respect. I had never had that sort of self-confidence.

Arthur definitely took after his father. They both had the same crinkle around the eyes when they smiled and seemed to throw their whole bodies into their laughs.

My mind shuddered away from making further comparisons between the two men. I was shocked to realize that I had even noticed anything like that about Arthur, him being the arrogant jackass that he was. But as I once again thought back to the discussion around the dinner table, my mind zeroed in on the conversation concerning their development plans.

See, I had assumed that Arthur was the one leading the project, meaning that he had picked the location. But if what I got out of dinner time discussion was anything to go by, that wasn’t entirely true. Arthur had actually been against using the park as their new drill sight. And if what Mr. Atreus (the older one, Adrian, not the younger one, Martin) had said was true, then they were going to lose quite a butt load of money by not using that place.

So why did Arthur turn down the offer? If he was truly a money grabbing capitalist like I thought he was, then wouldn’t the smart move be to begin drilling as soon as possible?

The more I thought about it, the more I began to feel sick with myself. I realized that in my need to find something wrong with my rescuer so that I wouldn’t feel guilty for all that he had done for me in the past two days, I had forced faults on him when there were none. He had only ever tried to help me, and I had treated him like he was the bad guy, when in all actuality, the only bad guy here was… me.

After sitting there going over the past few days’ events in my mind for what must have been hours, the guilt became almost unbearable. Beginning to feel trapped by my own consciousness, as every short and rude thing I had said to Arthur over the last two days played through my head, I fled the bedroom. I was desperate to escape. I had never experienced the compassion that he had shown me before, and it terrified me.

My mind once again turned to those thoughts that I had just the day before. There was no way he could be this caring without some sort of alternative motive. No one was that perfect. But then I remember the hurt in his eyes when he had touched my cheek and neck, telling me that I didn’t deserve those marks, when my whole life had been dictated by them.

I remembered the anger that had flashed across his features when he had been tying my tie earlier that day. That anger had been genuine. And not directed at me, but it was anger for me, anger for what had been done to me. I had looked away when I saw this, too afraid to try and understand what his reaction meant.

Now I was running. Down the hall, around a corner, another. I didn’t even know where I was running too. I was just desperate to get away, before I was swallowed by the kindness in his blue eyes.

Gasping for breath and clutching at my still minding chest, I finally stopped and took my first look around. I had been trying to find the door that would lead me out into the night and away from this place, but now I realized that I didn’t even know where that was. I was in a part of the house that I had never seen before (not that I had seen much, mind you, aside from Arthur’s room and the dining room).

I had burst into some sort of study/lounge area. There were books lining one wall with a large, flat screen TV on the other. The wall opposite to me consisted entirely of bay windows, similar to the one in Arthur’s room. There was a pool table and a few couches arranged around the room. One of those couches was directly in front of the TV that was quietly playing the 10 o’clock news.

Laying, stretched across this couch was the very person that I was most desperate to see and avoid, one Arthur Phelps.

I vaguely registered his startled expression, so caught up in my own shock. Like I had that very first time I had met him, I was frozen, unable to tear my eyes away from his. After what felt like forever, he relaxed and sat up, holding his hands up in a sort of sign of surrender.

“Patterson, are you alright? Is there anything I can do to help?” His voice was so full of concern, concern that I didn’t deserve after all that I had said and done, that I felt whatever what ever resolve that I might have had, crumble.

Against my control, my breathing, which had already been coming in gasps due to my run, now turned more erratic and irregular. I couldn’t seem to draw air in fast enough. I felt like a fish out of water, floundering, desperate for relief. My hands began to go numb, and I felt great shudders run across my body. Panic attack! I began to hyperventilate, unable to control my breathing or my trembling.

“Patterson?!” Arthur had jumped off the couch and was rushing towards me. I tried to back away from him, clutching my chest and trying to calm myself down. It wasn’t working. I could feel my entire body going numb, a tingling sensation had replaced any sense of touch that I had in both my arms and legs.

As dark spots began to dance across my vision, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out everything, but it still felt like the world was crashing down around me.

I felt a hand on my arm, and my legs finally collapsed. I had expected to hit the ground but instead I felt something brace my legs under the knees and the hand that had been holding my arm, slide across my back, bracing my shoulders. What? My mind was in a fog now. My breathing sounded more like air escaping a balloon. I clutched at something, anything. My trembling, numb fingers finally wrapped around some fabric, and I held on for dear life.

I vaguely registered being moved to one of the couch that Arthur had just been sitting on. He wasn’t there anymore. He’s holding me? I was too exhausted to fully comprehend what was happening, too focused on trying to steady my breathing.

“That’s it Patterson, just breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s right. You’re doing just fine. I’ve got you. Don’t worry, just breath.”

Arthur’s calm, steady voice managed to break through my panic. As I listened to his words, I tried to follow his instructions: breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. My breaths turned from being so erratic to hiccupping gasps. I realized hazily that Arthur was no longer talking but humming a soft tune. His arms were both now wrapped around me, and he had begun to rock me back and forth to the rhythm. My cheek was pressed to his chest, and I could feel his chest vibrating as he hummed, and I could hear his heart beating, steadily.

My mind zeroed in on that, using the calming beats to further steady my breathing. As my hiccups finally die away, I began to relax. Feeling had returned to my appendages and the trembling had almost completely disappeared. I gave a sigh, and it was answered by one from above me.

I looked up and once again locked eyes with Arthur’s. His arms tightened around me and he softly said, “Hey, how are you feeling?”

I stared for a second longer, my mind still a little cloudy. But as I fully processed where I was and what had just happened, I desperately began to crawl out of Arthur’s lap, flailing my limbs and scuttling backwards across the couch until my back hit one of the armrests. I held my arms out in front of me and could feel my panic beginning to return. I once again squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remain calm.

After a few minutes of silence, I cracked my eyes opened to see Arthur sitting on the other end of the couch with his arms held up in the sign of surrender once again.

“Patterson. Everything’s okay. I’ll just stay over here until you need me. I promise that you’re safe here.” He spoke softly, as if to a spooked animal, which I guess was kind of the case. I had been trying to get away from this guy, not run right for him! Or into his arms for that matter! My embarrassment was quickly hidden by my anger.

“Why would I need you?” I spat. “I didn’t want to be here anyways!” I swiped angrily at my tears that had fallen while I was having my panic attack earlier and glared down at my snot and tear covered hand. Glaring back up at Arthur, I saw that he was staring back at me with a strange look on his face, almost as if my words had hurt him in some way.

Not able to look him in the face anymore, I glanced down at his shirt and saw that, like my hand, it too was covered in my tears and snot. Staring at it, I once again began to feel the guilt that had made me flee the bedroom just a little earlier. I abruptly looked down at my lap and let the guilt once again consume me.

After sitting in silence for a few minutes, I finally turned to him and blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

He looked back at me, and we once again locked eyes. His face was blank, and I quickly looked down at my lap.

“What do you have to be sorry for?”

His question caught me by surprise. Glancing back up at him, I saw that he was still wearing that blank look.

Taking a shuddering breath, I braced myself for what I was about to say.

“I’m sorry for the way that I have been treating you. You have been nothing but kind to me, taking me in, making sure that my injuries were taken care of… And I have treated you like shit. I don’t deserve your kindness, and I have no idea how I could ever repay you for what you have done for me.”

I roughly scrubbed my eyes again. I always hated this part about me. This weakness that I had to rely on others to take care of me. Crying was something that girls did. I’m just proving dad right. I’ll never be anything but weak, a burden to everyone around me.

But Arthur didn’t treat me like a burden. He treated me like I was someone worth his time, and when I looked up at him again, I saw that it was true. He only cared for me. Why?  
I must have asked my question out loud because he suddenly gave a small laugh. “I have no idea. But I just know that seeing you upset and in so much pain, it hurts me too. You don’t have anything to apologize for. I would probably have reacted the same way if I had suddenly woken up in a stranger’s house.” He laughed once again, but this time it sound more self-deprecating then the first.

“No!” I protested. “I was the ungrateful jerk! You have done nothing to deserve the way I’ve treated you! I totally understand if you don’t want anything else to do with me!”  
He looked at me sharply. “What do you mean, I don’t want anything else to do with you? Patterson, I would do anything for you! Your happiness and health are the most important to me!”

“But, why?!” I asked in totally bewilderment. I knew that he was worried about me, but this sounded like it went way beyond just being a good neighbor.

“I don’t know why!” He roughly shoved his hand through his hair. “I just feel like if I let anything happen to you, I would never be able to live with myself. You’re important, and you don’t even seem to realize that, or believe me when I tell you!”

I stared at him in shock, not really knowing how to process that statement. “I’m… important… to you?” I turned it into a question. Why should he feel that way about me? He barely knew me. And if he did… I shuddered. He would kick me out, just like the rest.

He then sighed long and hard, turning to face me once again. “Yes, you’re important to me. No, I don’t know why. I just… I feel like I’ve met you before… It’s almost like…” He stopped short, then began again.

“Look, all I know is that when I see you hurting or see your injuries, I hurt too. And I become angry with whoever gave them to you. I don’t know anything about you, nor do I really care. I just know that I can’t stand the thought of you being anything but happy.” He slumped back against the sofa. He looked exhausted, but, then again, I wasn’t feeling much better.

“Look,” He continued in a softer voice. “I can’t even pretend to understand what has happened to you or why, but I understand the fact that you are hurting not just physically but emotionally as well. And I know that you don’t think you deserve anything. If you don’t want to stay here anymore, I won’t stop you, but I will never turn you out. I will always be there for you, so please, stop beating yourself up over all of this. You have nothing to be afraid of with me. I promise.”

The look he gave me was so earnest and, yet, so sincere that I had no choice but to trust him, even if I still didn’t believe him. A tear made its way down my cheek, but I didn’t seem to have the energy to wipe it away this time. No one had ever spoken to me in such a way before, and I didn’t know how to process it.

I turned to the TV where a news reporter was just covering a story over two missing teens. Looking at the images of the missing girls, I realized dejectedly that no one would be putting up a missing person report for me.

But, then again, I thought glancing over at Arthur Phelps, maybe that isn’t quite the case anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I am so incredibly sorry for such a late update! The last three weeks have been incredibly hectic around my home. First I was gone on a family vacation, then I volunteered to be a sponsor at a youth camp, and then my family were all struck with a virus. It's been hell. But here is Patterson's chapter, finally! Again I am so sorry for the delay. I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I can promise that we will not be abandoning this story! We are both way to emotionally invested in these characters! I hope you enjoy this chapter! And please continue to leave kudos and comments! Those are probably our biggest motivators for when the writing get hard, like this chapter was! Sorry if it's a little all over the place. This chapter was a bit of a doozy!


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